Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I leave the apartment, trailed by two cars filled with security as I drive across the city. Yesterday, while Ania was sleeping off the shock, the Sokolovs and I arranged a meeting with Roman Kozlov. The man seemed motivated by money, so it’ll be interesting to see how he reacts when he realizes the only thing I’m willing to give him is a mouthful of broken teeth for what he did.
I park outside the mall, nodding to the security guys as they pan out and surround the area. There will be more men inside, too, ready if the Kozlovs try anything foolish. Even the most hardened criminals know better than to try anything in high-risk areas like this. The Feds would be all over it.
The Sokolov brothers are waiting for me in the corner of the food court. Men after my own heart, at least how they scan the surroundings, both of them with their backs to the wall. It feels odd walking over to them, knowing what I did last night, the taste of their sister’s mouth still on mine, the feel of her clit against my hand, the sound of her release playing over and over in my head.
“Gentleman,” I say, putting my back to the wall, too. It must make for a strange sight, but habits are difficult to break.
“Aiden,” Dimitri says, nodding.
“Sup,” Mikhail says.
“He’s keeping us waiting, then.”
“Some two-bit wannabe thug,” Mikhail growls.
“Not wannabe. That car bomb could’ve done some serious damage.”
I nod at the elder Sokolov’s words. “He’s damn lucky Ania wasn’t hurt.”
I know it’s a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Both Sokolovs study me with clear suspicion, their eyebrows raised as if they’re wondering what the hell business that is of mine.
Dimitri gestures to the seat opposite. “Looks weird, you standing there like that.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” Mikhail says, and then it’s like his programmer’s brain kicks into action. “Ah, I get it.”
He stands, moving to the seat opposite him, freeing up the one with the back to the wall. I walk around the table and sit down.
“Military man,” Mikhail says. It’s not a question, so I don’t offer an answer.
“What are the cops saying?” Dimitri says. “We haven’t got as many connections here as you.”
“Suspected terrorist attack. That’s the story, anyway.”
“Let’s hope they stick with it. The last thing we need is this Bratva shit going public.”
“I don’t want to be involved in any of it,” I say sourly.
“A good law-abiding citizen, are you?” Mikhail says sarcastically.
“I take it you’ve done some digging if I’m reading your tone right.”
“You’ve dished out your fair share of off-the-books justice,” Mikhail says, “if the word on the street is to be believed.”
“It is.”
“So how the fuck are you better than us?”
“I don’t deal drugs. I don’t sell people.”
“And we do?” Mikhail says in disgust, shaking his head.
“Easy,” Dimitri mutters. “This is pointless posturing. If you want to fight, fight. Otherwise, let’s order some goddamn coffee.”
As we drink our coffees, Dimitri asks, “How is she?”
“Physically, she’s doing well,” I tell him, “but she’s scared. She’s young. She’s naive. She’s too damn innocent for this world.”
The brothers look at me just like Dad did, knowing glints in their eyes.
“Are you married?” Mikhail asks.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
I shake my head.
“It seems to me,” Mikhail says, “you’ve got the hots for this young, naive, vulnerable girl—our sister, your stepsister.”
I don’t let any emotion show on my face, and I do my best not to let it register in my body language, but it’s not easy. The way they’re phrasing it makes me sound like some sicko.
“She’s lived a very sheltered life,” Mikhail goes on. “She doesn’t know what she wants.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, hmm.” Mikhail scowls, taking a sip of his coffee.
A few minutes later, two men walk into the food court. One of them is lean and short and is wearing a leather jacket. The other, walking slightly behind, is clearly the muscle, a man even taller than the three of us, and that’s saying a lot. The man in the leather jacket stops at the table with a calculating expression.
“Sorry for my tardiness,” he says with a snakelike smile.
“Should probably be more sorry about the bomb, buddy,” Mikhail says.
“Do I need to introduce myself?” Roman Kozlov says.
“No. We know all about you,” Dimitri says, standing and offering his hand. “Let’s have a nice, civilized discussion about why you’re making the worst decision of your life going against us.”
Roman shakes his head with a little extra oomph, then sits down. The muscle lingers nearby.
“Let’s start by stating the obvious,” Dimitri says, as his younger brother leans close to Roman, staring at him as his hair flops to the side, looking like he’s ready to strangle him at a moment’s notice. “You’re very lucky nobody was hurt by your little stunt.”
“I’m the lucky one?” Roman snaps. “You beat and bloodied three of my most loyal men.”